The Reaping
by if-malice-was-tangible
Summary: 'It's strange more than anything to witness the Reaping. Year after year, I watch as children I've seen grow up are torn from their families and put into an arena to be the latest Capitol spectacle.' The District 12 Reaping from the POV of a Peacekeeper.


"Next." I say again, my voice empty of any emotion or interest to anything that's going on. I grip the next child in my leather-clad hand and press the needle swiftly into his index finger. He winces a little but makes nowhere near the fuss I've put up with so far today. Perhaps somewhat roughly, I press his finger onto the paper and scan it until it appears with his name. "Next." I call again, indicating his can move on to stand with the others for the Reaping.

It's strange more than anything to witness the Reaping. Year after year, I watch as children I've seen grow up are torn from their families and put into an arena to be made the latest Capitol spectacle. By law, I'm obliged to watch but I don't see it like those from the Capitol see it. I'm not brainwashed like they are. Sure, I work under the same regime and I'm certainly more privileged than people from my District but in no way does any of this mean that I enjoy watching children slaughter each other in the name of brutal entertainment.

Effie Trinket introduces the same tired, old video 'all the way from the Capitol' and I can see her murmuring along. She knows this by heart; it's pathetic.

"I just love that!" she enthuses and I can feel myself losing interest already. I'm not a parent, sibling or friend praying it's not their kid who's snatched away.

When I do tune back in, it's to see who _is_ heading for the bright city lights, far away from this run-down, off-the-tracks district. She glides her manicured fingers across sheets of paper, finally plucking one out of the Reaping ball. She steps forward purposefully on the podium and smiles widely as she reads out the name.

"Primrose Everdeen!"

I give absolutely no reaction other than vague intrigue. On the inside, however, I'm nauseous with the thought of Prim, trembling, terrified little Prim who used to hide from fellow Peacekeepers like they were nightmarish fiends, going into whatever the Capitol has concocted to host this years Hunger Games. I say nothing but I do flinch as I hear a shriek, a panicked scream that is almost unintelligible until she calms herself and steps through the Peacekeepers, composed and steel-faced.

"I volunteer as tribute." Katniss says strongly. I've bought from her a few times. Most of us have, although we'd never admit it for obvious reasons. The nausea I felt for Prim has vanished somewhat because this isn't the young, feeble child any more. Everyone knows what Katniss can do with a bow and arrow. Then again, look at her. Just a slip of a girl. Her bones protrude with years of hunger, just like all of her peers in District 12. She has a pallor complexion that screams for something with substance, unattainable in this part of Panem.

I don't have chance to ponder over her chances of survival any more because Effie's excitable voice rings out clear through the silenced crowd, calling for a round of applause. I almost bring my hands together but drop them quickly as I hear not a single clap. Instead, the entire gathering of people are bringing their left hands slowly to their mouth, kissing the first three fingers and then raising them to Katniss in a proud salute. She remains silent but looks honoured by this action.

Effie only looks flustered for a second before she regains her composure and smiles, fishing through the other glass Reaping ball for a male name.

"Peeta Mellark." she reads and his name sounds odd in her Capitol accent. I look through the crowds of boys to where they are all looking and I see him, shocked and clearly fearful. I wonder what his chances are. He's a strong young man with a much better background than the girl on the stage, staring into the crowd where her sister was pulled away by Gale, the other hunter who accompanies Katniss on her illegal ventures under the fence that divides District 12 and the wilderness.

Peeta stands on the stage and I feel a great amount of pity for him, for both of them. They're just children. At Effie's request, they shake hands but their eyes don't tear away from one another and I see Katniss' strange expression just before the doors of the Justice Building shut them in. They're in the Capitol's custody now.


End file.
